


Waiting for the Nights

by Gadhar



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-21
Updated: 2013-11-21
Packaged: 2018-01-02 05:26:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1053027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gadhar/pseuds/Gadhar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No, instead he just makes it through the next day and looks forward to the nights.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Waiting for the Nights

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own anything.

Shado's on watch for the next few hours. Her sinewy silhouette blends in easily with the mass of shadows that make up the forest and he watches her disappear by the dim, dying embers of the fire. Somehow, the silence becomes deafening with the absence of the flames, it's not dark by any means, not with the moon hanging high and casting a gentle light over their little camp, but the night's unnerving nonetheless. Moreso than usual. 

A breeze of wind ghosts around his ears, a shallow crunch of leaves following and he almost rears up, bow in hand, but before he can there's a shuddering, pained, gasp and the adrenaline flows out of him like wine, his relatively neutral mood deflating into one of sadness. 

Slade's in the corner of the only part of the wreckage that provides any cover. His body shakes with every breath, pained gasps making it past his lips every few moments and the moonlight on his sweat-slicked skin is a soft silver color that gives him an astral appearance of no physical boundaries. For his sake, Oliver wishes that were true. 

Oliver rolls into a crouch, half crawling over to Slade before settling next to the injured man, sitting comfortably and pulling Slade's body off the cold metal to lean against his own warm body. The shift brings a shallow groan from Slade, one of pain or relaxation, Oliver's not sure, but it's probably the former, everything Slade does now is laced with pain. But Slade's body doesn't shake as viciously, instead he sinks into Ollie, effectively curling into his lap and pressing his face tightly into Oliver's stomach. 

Oliver flinches in sympathy, dragging a finger lightly down the side of Slade's burnt face. He regrets the motion, slightly, when Slade hisses and shifts but then settles again when Ollie moves his hand to Slade's dirt crusted hair, carding through the strands lightly. 

The crash is one more thing atop many that slim their chances of survival greatly. He and Shado share sentry duties, but neither of them really sleep anymore. Slade is the worst off, constant pain leaving him in a state somewhere between unconsciousness and a hazy floating that Oliver guesses is similar to what he used to be in during his partying days. Every now and then Slade has a lucid period, but those are filled with tortured thrashes and sobs that Oliver rather not think about. 

The face, burned to a crisp and almost unidentifiable doesn't help either. It's a visible scar that will never go away, and Ollie doesn't see any hope in making it even slightly smaller. To walk around with a trauma that obvious is reason enough to hide away forever in Oliver's mind. But on Slade, somehow it's not as scary. 

He doesn't pretend to know much about the man who has become his mentor and something akin to a friend, but after the hell he's been through on this island he's come to recognize what darkness looks like in a man's eyes, and Slade has a lot of that. The burns, in their own way, only seem to magnify that darkness, show the two sides of Slade and it's disturbingly beautiful. 

Slade groans again, launching into a series of shudders and whines that Oliver shushes him through, brushing the hand that's not in Slade's hair down his face. There's a wetness on his thumb, but Oliver ignores that. 

He shifts, sinking lower against the wreckage wall and smiles slightly at the way Slade clutches his pants leg. He wouldn't go anywhere even if he could. He never has. It's been several days since the crash, the longer they stay the higher the danger, but they can't move, and part of Ollie doesn't want to. 

The wreckage has become a haven of sorts, not of safety but of a small degree of normalcy. The first night, Slade had slipped into a dark place, all loud groans and pained cries as he shook and coughed. That very same night is the one Oliver started holding him like this, it was the most comfort he could offer and it seemed to work, seemed to allow Slade to get a little rest even though he didn't really sleep. Slade would breath out shallowly, noze nuzzling slightly before making a soft noise and becoming still. It worried Oliver at first, the transition too close to one of death, but it soon came to be the sign of when Slade was as comfortable as possible and resting. He made that same one now. 

Oliver leans down, pressing a light kiss to Slade's temple before leaning back and closing his eyes, listening to the other man breathe. Ollie doesn't really think past getting off this island, he doesn't think of whether Slade is aware of what is going on or not. In the morning he'll go on like he didn't share any form of closeness with Slade, go on as though he didn't offer all he could to a man he owed his life to and now would cry for if it would do anything. 

No, instead he just makes it through the next day and looks forward to the nights. 


End file.
